CHAPTER XLI.

THE FARE HAS RISEN.

ON Sunday, September 10, 1854, I preached at the corner of Davis and Jackson streets, to a large crowd, many of whom were miners, who had been disappointed in a passage home. The fare had been very high for many months, from $140 to $250 per passenger to New-York. But three steamers had advertised to leave on Friday, the 8th instant, and competition. ran so high, that the fare was reduced to a very low figure. This caused a "rush from the mountains." Applications for passage were so numerous, and many were so desirous to get the fare reduced still lower, that the companies, the day before the sailing of the steamers, raised the fare to the former high rate. My text on this occasion was: "And the Lord shut him in." Noah and his family had wisely improved their opportunity, and secured their passage in the ark; but now the office was closed, no more passengers received, and the door was shut.

One of my illustrations ran thus: "Many of you wanted to go home. The fare to New-York was

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down to $20. That was a rare opportunity, but you delayed to embrace it. You said, 'Time enough yet. The fare will be lower still. By to-morrow we'll get tickets for a dollar and a quarter a piece.' And while discoursing on the probabilities of a more convenient season' for securing your tickets, one of your party inquired at the office to see how fast the price was coming down: What is the fare now, Mr. G. ?' 'I'll put you clear through to New-York in the steerage,' replied Mr. G., for $140.' 'Well, sir, I won't go in your boat,' said the miner; I'll wait for the next steamer.' 'Very good,' said Mr. G; 'whenever you get ready to buy your ticket, we'll be happy to sell you one.'

"The time has been, my friends, when you might very easily have secured a passage to heaven in the ark of salvation. You remember the many gracious opportunities you have had; but the fare has gone up.' It has risen in proportion to the multitude and magnitude of your sins. O how rapidly it has gone up since you came to California. You need never again talk of a convenient season to come. Your convenient season has passed long ago, never to return. The fare will never be any lower than it is today. But the office is open now, and your tickets are ready for you. We demand a renunciation of all your sins, and a consecration of your hearts and lives to God, and your belief in the Lord Jesus Christ.

Will you accede to these terms? 'Behold! now is the accepted time.' Engage your passage to-day. To-morrow the office may be closed, and the door shut, and then the deluge of retributive justice will sweep you away and drown you in perdition."

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CHAPTER XLII.

A DUELIST'S FUNERAL.

I SUBMIT the following letter, as an introduction to my subject:

"Rev. MR. TAYLOR,

"DEAR SIR,-Colonel Woodlief, a gentleman from Texas, with whom you probably had some acquaintance, was killed yesterday in a duel with Mr. Kewen. Previous to the duel in the morning he expressed a desire that, in case of his death, you should be requested to perform the appropriate ceremonies over his body. If you will be kind enough to do so, sir, you will confer a favor upon the many friends of Colonel Woodlief, and particularly upon his lady. The funeral will take place at two o'clock this afternoon, from the Tehama House.

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Very respectfully your obedient servant,
"RICHARD W. ALLEN.

"SAN FRANCISCO, Nov. 9, 1854."

Colonel Woodlief's untimely death was sincerely regretted by the large assembly of his friends who

attended his funeral. It is not an easy task for a minister, in the presence of such an auditory and a weeping widow, to do justice to the cause of truth and the feelings of his hearers. I once heard a minister preach at the funeral of an alderman in this city, and, though the man was known to be a notorious drunkard, and it was believed that he had killed himself by hard drinking, he was held up by the minister, in the presence of the mayor, councilmen, and a vast assemblage of citizens, as a paragon of moral excellence. The impression was conveyed that he had without doubt been admitted to glory, because he was an honorable alderman of the City of San Francisco. My moral sensibilities were shocked. I would not unnecessarily hurt the feelings of bereaved friends. But thus to obliterate moral distinctions in character, and endorse such men, without repentance, as suitable subjects for the kingdom of heaven, gives the lie to God's holy word, and encourages sin. My fears for the effect of that sermon on the community were such that I was led, on the following Sabbath, to preach to a large audience on the Plaza from this text: "In hell he lifted up his eyes, being in torment."

On the occasion of Colonel Woodlief's funeral I said: "My dear friends, you are doubtless all acquainted with the person and character of Colonel Woodlief, and the melancholy circumstances of his